Just like Jax’s held mine.

Twenty-eight

It wasn’t until Monday afternoon that Clyde was well enough for a short visit. Jax had to stay out in the waiting area while a young nurse led me into his room.

Seeing him lying on the narrow bed, his once big and bulky frame appearing so frail, and covered with tubes and wires, shook me up.

My knees knocked together as he blinked slowly and then I swallowed the raw emotion building in my throat. I sat in the small chair beside his bed. Reaching out, I placed my fingers over his. “Hey there.”

A weak, tired smile appeared on his lips. His complexion was terribly pale. “Baby girl . . .”

My breath caught. “How are you feeling?”

“Ready to . . . run a marathon.”

I laughed and my smile became wobbly. Several seconds passed as we stared at each other, and I had to swallow hard again. “I want you to get better.”

The weak smile fluttered. “On it.”

“I want you to get better so that when school starts back up and I come home on the weekends, you’ll make me tacos,” I told him. “Okay?”

His brows lifted a fraction of an inch and he murmured, “Home?”

Worried that the heart attack had messed with more than his heart, I nodded. “Yeah, when I come home, I want you . . .” I trailed off as the sharp slice of understanding cut through me.

Home.

I’d called here home.

And I hadn’t called here home in years, because it hadn’t felt that way since Mom went downhill and Dad left. My mouth opened wordlessly, but I didn’t know what to say. The strangest thing was I had no inclination to correct what I had said, because here . . . here was home again.

Wow.

I had no idea what to do with all that.

That exhausted smile showed off a toothy grin that faded quickly. “Baby girl, I never . . . thought I’d hear . . . that again.”

“I . . . I never thought I’d say that again.” Damnit. Tears made it to my eyes, and I wondered if this was the summer I went on Prozac. “But it’s . . .”

“It’s true.” He took a deep breath and winced. “It’s good, baby girl. It’s . . . real good.”

I squeezed his fingers gently and leaned forward, whispering, “It is.”

And I wasn’t lying. It really was. My heart kicked around in my chest as I wiped the back of my other hand across my cheek.

“You feel that?” he asked quietly.

“What?” I croaked out.

“The weight lifting a little . . . off you,” he said. “You feel it?”

My lips trembled as I nodded. “Yeah, Uncle Clyde, I feel that.”

Another deep breath passed and it took a lot for him to get his hand turned around. He squeezed my fingers back with the pressure of a toddler, and that was hard to see. “Your momma . . . she loved you, baby girl. She still does. You . . . know that, right?”